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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29703384">The Anarchic Antics of Angels and Animals, and the Adverse Aspects Thereof</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/herebewyverns/pseuds/herebewyverns'>herebewyverns</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The Third Side [6]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman &amp; Terry Pratchett</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angels Being Assholes (Good Omens), Angels Can Sense Love (Good Omens), Angels are Terrifying (Good Omens), Animals, Assholes with A Cause, But Like... Helpful Assholes, Gen, Guardian Angels, Heaven is Also Terrible At Everything, Heaven is Terrible (Good Omens), Original Character(s)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 06:42:06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>10,894</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29703384</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/herebewyverns/pseuds/herebewyverns</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Being an Accounting of The Millennia-Long Saga of the Guardian Angels' Efforts to Capture the Demon Crowley.<br/>--------------------------------------<br/>A/N: Takes place during Heaven’s Adversary Chapter of Results of Reviewing Reported Rumours.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Aziraphale &amp; Angels (Good Omens)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The Third Side [6]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1403548</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>41</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>75</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. The Nature and Nuances of Good Intentions</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>When writing the fifth chapter of 'The Results of Reviewing Reported Rumours', I realised I had far too many fun ideas for mis-guided angelic demon-hunting attempts, so thought rather than cut them all out I would make them into their own story! Special thanks this time to Hawkwind1980, whose response when I floated this insane idea to her was 'DO IT! YES!' rather than 'You mad-woman, what are you doing now?'</p>
    </blockquote><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>In which the true face of Evil is much discussed and Aziraphale is supported in unconventional ways.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>There was a beat of awkward silence, before Gabriel coughed.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Right. Well then. Ah…” </em>
</p><p><em>He trailed off for a moment, before his eyes caught on Arariel’s form as she tried to blend into the walls as much as was possible. Sadly, the walls in Heaven are entirely devoid of features or forms – they are designed like that specially – and so there was nothing to blend in </em><em><span class="u">with</span></em>.</p><p>
  <em>“Right! Arariel, thank you for your suggestion, we would be very grateful, I am sure, for any assistance that the Eighth Tower might lend to Aziraphale, although of course we will understand if it takes you all a while to catch up to Aziraphale’s experience and knowledge.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Everyone carefully pretended not to hear Michael’s quiet snort, and instead kept <span class="u">looking</span> at Arariel’s hapless person. Belatedly, she realised she should probably say something.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Ah… Yes, Gabriel. Right away.” It suddenly dawned on Arariel that she had inadvertently volunteered the Eighth Tower to lead a possibly major operation to assist the Principality Aziraphale in finally subduing the demon Crowley, the Serpent of Eden. She could be forgiven, somewhat, for panicking a little, but rallied enough to offer, “I wonder if we might also call upon the members of the Fifth Regiment’s assistance in this?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Sandalphon’s eyebrows rose. “The Fifth? What for?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>There was a brief but tactful pause. Before his reassignment to what he so casually liked to refer to as ‘Apple Tree Duty’ and then his re-reassignment to Earth, the Fifth Regiment had been commanded by Aziraphale himself. With the … loss of the other principalities, it was felt by some that leaving one regiment under a differing command structure to all the others was inefficient at best and decidedly risky at worst, and so the link was never openly acknowledged.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Arariel tried very hard to think fast.</em>
</p><p>
  <em><span class="u">We‘re conducting experiments together on the Importance of Cake and the Emotional Stability of Books</span> did not strike Arariel as a clinching argument, but Gabriel snapped his fingers in recollection.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Aha! Yes, I’ve seen Aziraphale talking to Cassiel from that lot, haven’t I?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Yes, Gabriel. Aziraphale likes to …” Arariel cast her mind about desperately to think of an archangel-friendly way to phrase anything that Aziraphale talked to Cassiel about, “ah, make sure that the Fifth Regiment is properly adapting to new developments on Earth.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Gabriel’s smile was blinding, in that it was a hazard to perception and made your eyes water.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Excellent! So glad to hear that Aziraphale’s keeping his Leadership Skills up to scratch like that! Sandalphon, make a note of Aziraphale establishing a solid working-relationship with the Fifth, won’t you? Well, you all seem to be rather perfect for the job then. Good, good. Off you go!”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Arariel hesitated for a second, then realised the opportunity for escape she had finally been presented with and gratefully fled.</em>
</p><p>*</p><p>Half an hour later, Arariel is desperately shifting through every record of every encounter anyone in Heaven has ever had with the demon Crowley. Anything that will help her, help them all, defeat so notorious and powerful a demon as Crowley must surely be…</p><p>What she finds is little and less than useless <em>[1] </em>and she is reaching a frantic hand for yet another stack as the papers were whirled away from her reach by the sudden draft of the archives door being flung open to reveal Michael, flanked from behind by Sandalphon, striding towards her with purpose.</p><p>
  <em>[1] Aziraphale, Principality and Guardian of the Eastern Gate, was many things, but stupid certainly wasn’t one of them. Sides or not, Arrangements or not, if you have a dear friend you have thoroughly enjoyed spending time with over centuries, you do not tell you Head Office much if anything about them wherever possible, and what you do tell them you make as vague and contradictory as possible. Crowley is a wily agent of chaos who spins tales to his best advantage with a thought, but Aziraphale is a solid stone wall of silence and general unhelpfulness when pressed.[1.1]</em>
</p><p>
  <em>[1.1] This, unexpectedly, had proven to be something of a transferable skill when Aziraphale became the proud owner of a Bookshop and the equally proud Worst Salesman Ever of actual books. The difficulty levels were remarkably similar: the average customer is less likely to start wielding fiery swords and feathers, but is also less likely to be successfully distracted by the casual mention of seminar schedules or reporting deadlines.</em>
</p><p>Arariel considers hiding under the desk, but she’s already been seen and there’s no call for her to go around cornering <em>herself</em> now, is there, asks a soft and slightly stuffy little voice in her own head.</p><p>“Archangel Michael. Archangel Sandalphon.” She says instead. She doesn’t ask why they are here, they’ll tell her soon enough, and she finds that she prefers to give them as little to turn against her as she can; the meeting’s scare still fresh in her mind.</p><p>“Guardian.” Sandalphon responds, but Michael just looks at her in silence for a long beat.</p><p>“You will bring him to me.” The words are brittle, sharp and bitten off. “It is Written.”</p><p>Arariel blinks for a moment, confused. “I’m sorry?”</p><p>Michael’s eyes narrow as if Arariel’s confusion is deeply and personally offensive to her. “I have spoken to the Seers of the Seventh Tower, and they have told me of all that they have Seen. The Serpent, who is known as Crowley. Should you catch him, his death is to be by my own hand. None other can bring him to his final and ultimate End. Only my own sword may end his miserable life. It is Written.”</p><p><em>You</em><em>… The Serpent</em>…<em> Really?!</em> Arariel thinks.</p><p>This whole conversation, should you ask Arariel, is suddenly <em>highly</em> suspect indeed. The Seers of the Seventh Tower, in the opinion of most of Heaven’s Host, are by far the biggest crowd of off-the-wall crazies you could ever possibly find. The angels of the Ninth Regiment look upon the Seers of the Seventh Tower with the bewildered looks of wary horror which <em>they</em> could only dream to induce from everyone else. The Seers from the Seventh Tower are kept in rooms so calming that even by Heaven’s standards they are <em>incredibly </em>boring, and are not allowed near sharp objects for fear that they may mistake them for snowballs. The Seers of the Seventh Tower, in short, are the last people Arariel would trust with visions of <em>any</em> kind. <em>[2] </em>Much less base celestial policy from. <em>[3]</em></p><p>
  <em>[2] Just <span class="u">look</span> at what happened with John of Patmos! Revelations all over the place! Absolute mess!</em>
</p><p>
  <em>[3] This is in no way to suggest that Heaven does not have a few Seers who can be trusted with helpful hints, and sage suggestions, of course. Indeed, were an archangel to wish for a Seerly steering hand, they need look no further than the inhabitants of the Thirteenth Tower who might be a cosy set of nesters with a card-problem but are generally much less likely to send one careening off after a false image. [3.1] There is no clear agreement among the Host as to whether this is due to Higher Insight or a greater than usual source of Common Celestial Sense, but regardless, the point we wish to make here is that there were far better options available, and yet the Seers of the Seventh Tower were the ones Michael sought out. This may explain many things about Michael.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>[3.1] Which is not to say that they’re necessarily <span class="u">clear</span> about what they Seen in their visions, that would be far too helpful and straightforward. Think, if you will, of the recently released, much-acclaimed prophecies of Agnes Nutter… if Agnes had basically only learned what proper nouns were three days ago. Do not ask them for travel directions.</em>
</p><p> On the other hand, Arariel is very sure indeed that Michael did not come to her for a second opinion. Finally deciding that her role here is not to ask questions but to agree and quickly so they can all move on, she nods.</p><p>“I – Yes, Michael. Of course.”</p><p>She stands as still as she can under Michael’s sharp gaze, before she is finally released from its clutches.</p><p>“Good.” Is all Michael says, before turning on her heel and striding away the way she arrived.</p><p>Sandalphon lingers however, saying nothing for a beat, before a slight sneer tugs at his lips as if he had drawn it on specially for her benefit.<em> [4]</em> “<em>If</em> you can catch him, of course, Arariel. Rest assured that our expectations with regard to your abilities are not … <em>high.</em> We will not be surprised, should you fail.”</p><p>
  <em>[4] He had. Sandalphon is not good with people, but he’s done a lot of research and he has discovered that if he smiles in just the right way then they don’t scream any more. It has not occurred to him that some smiles just make the viewer head straight to the ‘Frozen in Fear’ response, but if you are Sandalphon then maybe you think this is basically the same thing. He’s working on Small Talk next.</em>
</p><p>Arariel closes her eyes, shutting away the sight of that sneer for a moment and thinks of Aziraphale’s fond smile and his warm hand on her shoulder the last time he visited <em>[5]</em>, the strength of his convictions that Arariel could do anything she set her mind to. She takes a breath in and lets it out again.</p><p><em>[5] I am quite sure that he means well?</em> <em>Inner-Aziraphale offers. He sounds doubtful about it, but that could just be Arariel’s mind at work…</em></p><p>“Thank you, Archangel Sandalphon. I should have hated to disappoint you.”</p><p>Sandalphon only nods. “Quite.”</p><p>She does not watch him leave. She kneels instead to gather up the scattered papers, and if her hands shake she does not examine too closely to discover if they do so with fear or with rage. Neither will help them, after all.</p><p>*</p><p>“So the plan is to… catch the demon Crowley?” Cassiel is staring at Arariel like she’d suggested he flash his battle-plumage at Sandalphon or something.</p><p>Cassiel is the ranking Lieutenant of the Fifth Regiment, has command of five thousand angels and has seen everything from floods, fire and famine in his time. Cassiel has no business looking at Arariel like this is the worst set of orders he’s been involved in. <em>[6]</em></p><p>
  <em>[6] Cassiel has been – among other things – assigned miraculous interior decorating jobs [6.1], has on five separate occasions had to wrangle flocks of snow-white doves to take flight on significant cue [6.2], and has chaired the Victory Over the Fallen Festivities organisation committee for the past six centuries [6.3]. In short, Cassiel’s relationship with being given daunting tasks is a familiar one, and you’d think he ought to be more used to it by now.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>[6.1] And lo! Though there was only one can of paint, nevertheless the decorating efforts throughout the whole complex was completed by morning. Truly, it was a miracle and sign of the Lord’s favour.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>[6.2] Cassiel has never eaten of earthly morsels personally, but one day Aziraphale will offer him a pigeon pie and Cassiel will ravage the dish with such un-angelic fervour that even Aziraphale will be equal parts both deeply impressed and a little taken aback.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>[6.3] This is nothing to do with Cassiel’s feelings about The War at all, and everything to do with the fact that Cassiel has the talent of very quietly yet firmly getting a large crowd of overly enthusiastic angels to stop zooming off in their own directions and actually pull together for once. Aziraphale had found out about this role and frowned at him in severe silence for a moment, but Cassiel had buried his head in his hands and looked so thoroughly miserable to have the role of party-organiser in such an inherently non-party-going environment as Heaven that in the end Aziraphale had just patted him on the back in solidarity of unpleasant roles one doesn’t sign up for and started sending crates of the ugliest decorations he can find Upstairs to ‘help’. Cassiel smiles every time they decorate now, as angels around him blink and wince and squint away from the clashing bright colours [6.4] and the high-levels of glitter and the constant threat of being ambushed by falling streamers, and no matter what he implies to an exasperated Gabriel, he makes absolutely sure that the boxes are never lost between Festivities, and that their contents are never, ever damaged.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>[6.4] Even the angels of the Third Tower (a group universally agreed upon to be trusted with no plan, design or notion which was ever intended to be visited upon those brave souls who inhabit what experts insist upon referring to as ‘Reality’) agree that bright chartreuse goes poorly with fuchsia, which was one of the tamer combinations present.</em>
</p><p>Arariel scowls at him. There’s no need to make this sound any more ridiculous than it is, by the unfair method of <em>stating exactly what this is</em> like that. “’Plan’ is pushing it into over-statement. I didn’t have time to think of a <em>plan</em>, Cassiel! I just had to do something to stop Michael from, from, <em>you know?</em>”</p><p>Cassiel sighs, but nods. He knows. They <em>all</em> know.</p><p>Guardians may be the lowest-ranking of all of Heaven’s angels <em>[7]</em>, but they are far more aware of Heaven’s shifting concerns and allegiances than many of their superiors would be comfortable had they realised. To the Guardians, Aziraphale is an example to follow, a shoulder to lean on, and a mystery to at last be understood in the fullness of time. To the Archangels he is, at best, a curious remnant of a by-gone age to be hidden away unless he should possibly prove useful in some way. At worst, Aziraphale is troubling reminder that the Third Sphere technically has three ranks of angels… and the archangels are not the superior rank.</p><p>Guardians protect and watch over those who are precious, just as much as they guide and advise, and Aziraphale is no less worthy of their protection, meagre as it may be, simply because he can stand on his own. Not all threats come from the Enemy, after all.</p><p>
  <em>[7] Though by no means the least important, as his inner-Aziraphale immediately cuts in. Anyone who spends a lot of time talking to Aziraphale gets one sooner or later, and it was not lost upon Cassiel - an angel whose chief talent was for leadership of a far softer form than the type Gabriel liked to give seminars about - how much more pleasant his life was when he listened to it. Instead of flaming swords, as Cassiel had once explained to Raphael one time in the Great Infirmary, badly burned in the Wrath visited unto Sodom and wobbling with shock, every angel should have been issued with an inner-Aziraphale of their very own in the Beginning. They’d all have been happier then. He thinks that Raphael may have said something in response, but he’d been pre-occupied at the time with graciously losing his battle with consciousness, and so missed it.</em>
</p><p>It is at this point that Kamael comes barrelling in through the door, eyes lit up and grin sparking like starlight. “I heard we were on A Mission to Earth!”</p><p>Cassiel sighs. The only thing missing from this nightmare of an assignment was Kamael’s boundless fervour and enthusiasm, and now his day is … complete? “Kamael, it’s not like that-“</p><p>Kamael is an unstoppable force at the best of times, and clearly all the excited buzz among the assembled guardians has gotten to him. He pays not a single shred of attention to his commanding officer, rather he turns and addresses Arariel with the kind of unrelenting enthusiasm for An Idea which explains a lot about Australia. “Are we <em>really</em> going to capture the demon Crowley?”</p><p>Behind Kamael can be heard the excited chatter of a thousand equally excitable Guardians whom Kamael has oh-so-helpfully whipped up into a storm of eager bounding energy.<em> [8]</em> Cassiel looks at the desk for a moment like <em>he</em> wishes very much to hide beneath it, but sighs as he ultimately decides against it.</p><p>
  <em>[8] Kamael – a transfer from the brash, bold set of the Ninth Regiment to the relatively staid and dull set of the Fifth [8.1] - is, arguably, the inevitable result of angels attending one or two too many of Gabriel’s Leadership Seminars. [8.2] With an impressive stature in any form, a personality which captivates and enthrals the watcher, and a … shall we say ‘Bold Vision’, Kamael can easily be the factor which turns a normal ‘hey, I wonder what would happen if we -?’ thought [8.3] into a ‘HOLD MY HOLY WATER, WE’RE GOIN’ IN!’ disaster. [8.4] It had been hoped that the Fifth would be a mitigating influence on the young guardian, though judgements regarding the actual success or not of the endeavour are decidedly mixed, with certain archangels developing the distinct impression that the exchange of attitudes went rather in the opposite direction.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>[8.1] The regiments which had been assigned to the four principalities were all ... interesting... in their own, different ways. While the regiments led by the archangels were each and every one of them wonderfully uniform, excellently drilled, highly obedient, they had nonetheless, for some completely unfathomable reason, suffered the greatest losses in The War. The principality-led regiments, by contrast, displayed various irregularities that their new arch-angel superiors alternately despaired of and were infuriated by, but despite their very best efforts, they could not make a good case for the regiments’ training to be overhauled, especially given their comparative success on the battlefield. Even now, with the principalities all but gone, their legacy continued. A regiment once formed and led by a principality can be thoroughly relied upon to tackle any problem they are thrown at – with enthusiasm, imagination and pragmatism, it had to be begrudgingly admitted - but never in the way that a passing archangel would consider… wise.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>[8.2] Ever since Raphael had put her foot down following the increasing faffing about in the life of the prophet Jacob (which everyone eventually agreed had gotten just a <span class="u">little bit</span> out of hand) the Leadership Seminars were mostly voluntary. In an effort to curb Acts of Unwarranted Enthusiasm, Raphael finally limited Gabriel to one mandatory leadership seminar per half-millennium, and instances of suitably chastened guardians being smartly returned to Heaven by the scruffs of their celestial necks by a disgruntled Aziraphale still muttering about pyromaniac pestering have dropped off sharply.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>[8.3] Which had resulted in creatures like the peacock and, interestingly enough, also the goose.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>[8.4] Which had resulted in the shoe-billed stork and the cassowary. ‘Nuff said, really. While we all know by now that dinosaurs are simply a joke which the palaeontologists have yet to fully grasp the shoe-bill is proof that certain angels were - at best - a touch bitter about having missed the opportunity to test out some of their best ideas in practice.</em>
</p><p>“Ahhh… No, Kamael, that’s not really-“ begins Cassiel, trying to project a calming atmosphere, but Arariel interrupts him.</p><p>“<em>Yes</em>.” She says, and watches with amusement as Kamael nearly shakes his Heavenly corporation apart at the seams in his excitement.</p><p>Arariel raises her voice a little, for in Heaven there are always attentive ears ready to catch whatever they can. “Yes, we are, Kamael. We will capture him and thereby assist Aziraphale in his work on Earth, for he has been left alone and without aid from Heaven for many years, and it is our honour and privilege to have been entrusted with such a task.”</p><p>Kamael’s eyes are <em>shining</em>, and beyond the door can be heard gasps as the Eighth Tower and the Fifth Regiment all catch on to the reason they have been assembled. The murmuring rises into a great excited cacophony, but Kamael’s eager outburst doubtless speaks for them all,</p><p>“This is going to be <em>amazing</em>!”</p><p>Cassiel makes another pained sound of despair <em>[9]</em> but Arariel ignores him and so does Kamael. “I’m so glad to see you’re on-board, Kamael. Could you please take charge of pulling together everything we know about the Adversary Crowley so we can formulate a plan of action?”</p><p>
  <em>[9] The last time Kamael had declared that something would be ‘amazing’, Cassiel had certainly been amazed. Really. He had been amazed that Heaven hadn’t somehow created an extra category of Falling especially for Kamael, for one thing. He had also been amazed that Gabriel had ever managed to get the dye out of his wings, for another. And then there had been the matter of the bees…</em>
</p><p>Kamael is still beaming starlight all over her office, all but bursting with pride, but he bounces out again soon enough leaving Cassiel looking helplessly after him like he just doesn’t know what is going on anymore.<em> [10]</em></p><p>
  <em>[10] In the interests of complete fairness, it should be noted that the angels from the Second and Eighth Regiments (who have actually succeeded in the Ultimate Goal for Guardians everywhere of leading such quiet lives that they hardly have to deal with anyone) tend to look helplessly after Cassiel in just such a fashion. Such things are very relative.</em>
</p><p>The door closes and there is a long beat of silence.</p><p>“I don’t think I’ve seen Kamael so excited since the platypus design committee.” Arariel muses, finally feeling A Plan start to form. It’s perfect. It will cause just enough chaos to give Aziraphale a break, allow him the opportunity to display some of his many Earth-based talents and vast knowledge in a form that the archangels will be able to understand and respect, <em>and</em> give the guardians a small measure of their own back for the countless slights over the centuries.</p><p>It’s not <em>revenge</em>, she tells herself carefully, it is <em>reckoning</em>. That’s totally different and definitely appropriate for an angel to carry out.</p><p>“Arariel …” Cassiel begins and then stops when he catches sight of the almost devious light in his friend’s eyes.</p><p>Some angels are most terrifying when they lift aloft their flaming swords and speak with the full weight of Heaven. Some are most awe-full (and awful) when their righteous rage flares so far and so fiercely that it is as if the whole sky blazes with incandescence. Some are frightening in the quiet way they listen and watch and see <em>everything.</em> Arariel is never more dangerous than when she has been thinking and has now formulated a true Plan. Cassiel shakes his head, utterly at a loss.</p><p>Arariel blinks at him with an innocent face he <em>in no way</em> trusts. “Cassiel.”</p><p>“<em>Arariel</em>.” She just blinks at him silently some more, until he bursts out, “You cannot <em>truly</em> believe that we can capture the Serpent of Eden, Hell’s representative on Earth, can you? Even should we succeed, what would we do with him? Are we to drag him throughout Heaven like a trophy? Are we to kill him and see him replaced by another, for Hell’s forces are legion just as ours! Arariel, this will end in War!”</p><p>Cassiel’s voice does not rise, as it might in another, but his tone becomes more urgent with every word. His wings move restlessly, shifting around as if they aren’t sure if they want to wrap protectively around him or take him far, far away. To refuse an archangel’s orders is treason and punishable by… well, they aren’t any of them sure, but they know it will be dreadful beyond words.</p><p>And yet, Cassiel has no wish to push Heaven into a conflict it need not pick. If it should be Her Will, then of course Cassiel knows better than to think that there is anything he, or Arariel, or any of them, might do to prevent it, and he has made his regretful peace with the knowledge that there shall be another War yet to come. But… Cassiel remembers the last War, remembers the blood and the acrid stench of burning Graces, remembers the screams and the cries and the aching <em>loss</em> as they each of them lost their brothers and sisters, over and over and over again. Remembers the crumpled bodies of those whose Graces had been torn asunder and perished. Remembers the awful, visceral gaps left in their ranks as the smoke finally cleared, never to be refilled.</p><p>Oh, Cassiel knows that he will have to revisit those dreadful years one day, have to lift his sword and fight for his Host, his flock-mates and his Lord… but never a day before he must. Before She commands it of him.</p><p>Arariel’s smile is softer now, and her hands gentle as she reaches for a friend she has known a long time. “No, Cassiel, <em>no</em>. I would not ask such a thing of you, I would not do that to any of us. I <em>swear</em>.”</p><p>Cassiel breathes now, deeper and more even as he reads the sincerity in her eyes, and her wings reach out too and stroke softly over his own in comfort. After a beat his own wings reach back, gently entwining their feathers together until the edges between them fade and blur. <em>[11]</em></p><p>
  <em>[11] It is considered highly old-fashioned in Heaven to communicate and comfort through touch, when words are surely just as effective and relieve one of the possibility of ruffled feathers. It may surprise you not at all to hear that the groups who interact most frequently with Aziraphale tend towards a certain… inability to move with the times and a flat refusal to let go of something they enjoy. It will certainly not surprise Crowley when one day he learns this.</em>
</p><p>He trusts Arariel, her bright, brilliant mind and her righteous sense of justice both. She won’t drag them into trouble if she can possibly help it. She was with him the day they had crept guiltily through the Halls of the Fallen, curious and come to see what names the stone standing in the Principalities’ Hall bore – all three? Or just the two? – and had accidentally borne shocked witness as Aziraphale stooped to leave a new apple on the monument to his fallen flock. They had frozen together in the shadows, helpless in the face of so much <em>grief</em> in one they had looked up to as a pillar of strength and joy. Aziraphale is so glad to see them all, they had rarely had cause to think of the courage the last principality showed, to rise each new day as the last, lone member of his Nest.</p><p>Arariel and Cassiel, they both know better than to charge into a conflict that cannot be won for a petty reward.</p><p>“Alright, then.” He says after a long moment. “What’s really the plan? How are we to capture the demon Crowley without bringing down Hell’s fury upon us?”</p><p>Arariel’s eyes sparkle again as she grins, teeth sharp as any imp’s before adopting a look of pious innocence. “We’re not going to capture him.”</p><p>“What?” Cassiel must have misheard. Surely she isn’t suggesting they disobey direct orders? Or even foment rebellion?</p><p>“Cassiel.” Arariel looks like she is being especially patient with him. “Cassiel, what does the demon Crowley look like?”</p><p>Cassiel opens his mouth and then pauses. “I – I don’t know? Sort of… evil, I suppose?”</p><p>Arariel is kind enough not to mock him for such a useless response and only continues, “What does he do? Where does he frequent? Is he monstrous or beautiful? Does he take a human form for preference or something more exotic?”</p><p>Cassiel shakes his head. He does not, he realises with sudden shock, know any of these things. Aziraphale mentions Crowley sometimes, but very rarely and his stories are strangely devoid of much in the way of distinguishing features. Cassiel knows that Crowley is wily, that he is clever, that he is sometimes <em>[12]</em> defeated not by Aziraphale’s own cunning, but by the seeds of evil’s own corruption. But as for what he looks like…</p><p>
  <em>[12] *often.</em>
</p><p>It’s a curious thing, but although every angel in Heaven has heard all about the notorious demon Crowley, no one other than Aziraphale has actually met him in person. There’s a distinct aura of mystery surrounding the Serpent of Eden, an element of the Unknown and possibly <em>unknowable</em>. As if the knowledge of Crowley was also Forbidden back in the Garden, and no angel has tasted <em>[13]</em> of that Knowledge yet.</p><p>
  <em>[13] Not tasted <span class="u">like that</span>. Honestly, people!  </em>
</p><p>Arariel watches him come to the same conclusions that she had, slower though he may be. Now, she smiles, and there is merriment in the curve of her lips, and in the dancing of her curls there is relief too.</p><p>“I collected all the records we have of Crowley as soon as I left the meeting, and Cassiel, there’s hardly <em>anything</em>! He prefers black, he changes forms at will, and his eyes are golden. That’s it!”</p><p>Cassiel smiles, caught up in her enthusiasm, but a frown crosses his face as he is struck by the impossibility of their task. “Then how can we -?”</p><p>Arariel’s smile doesn’t falter. “We can’t. But of course <em>we</em>, lowly angels that we are, <em>we</em> cannot possibly tell if we have truly caught such a skilled agent of evil, can we? And besides, that is not our role. We must only seek out the Serpent and bring him to Heaven for Michael to deal with, she said so specifically. If we were to be … mistaken? And bring back creatures which were <em>not</em> Crowley, well… We will not disappoint them in our failure.”</p><p>The words sound like a quotation, and Cassiel’s hands clench as he realises that Arariel has had more than one unpleasant meeting today. Then he smiles back at her, and he knows that the light of Heaven’s divine retribution has kindled in his own eyes.</p><p>
  <em>Yes.</em>
</p><p>Cassiel has seen many battles, and many wars. And he knows <em>exactly</em> how to do this.</p><p>He had rather thought that archangels – being creatures of such age and experience, if not always … wisdom, shall we say - would have learned better by now. He wasn’t exactly sorry to be wrong however. Just this once.</p><p>Angels might, in general, be beings of mercy, but Guardians will defend those they love to their very death. Next to that, teaching a few superior officers better than to try to upset Aziraphale, friend to them all and joyful proof of Her abiding Love, was no trouble at all.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Snakes (on a Celestial Plane)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>In which the importance of good manners is repeatedly demonstrated.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>They begin, naturally enough, with the most obvious possibly-demonic form. There is no shortage of willing hands to help, and Arariel was perfectly willing to take full advantage. Although recent management policy tended to heavily discourage innovative thinking, it is not to be forgotten that many guardians had done the bulk of the work in designing, engineering, focus-testing and finally building much of Her creation with the Earth Project. Nor should it be forgotten that – after spending so much time finessing the glorious colours of hundreds of species of birds’ plumage patterns, or developing a vast array of orchid-to-bee combinations – the rote filling-and-filing of meaningless paperwork is deeply unsatisfying for such creative-types. <em>[1]</em></p><p>
  <em>[1] And, as Above, so Below.  There’s a reason that human creative-types need something that can keep them occupied.  Elsewise, they shall <span class="u">find</span> something to occupy them, and it may not be their supervisors’ ideal activity. Angels are beings of enormous power and energy and thusly tend to be rather easily bored. For example, if Aziraphale is not sufficiently ‘kept upon his toes’ by certain wily fiends, erstwhile customer-hopefuls to his Bookshop can expect to find themselves faced with ever-more intricate mazes and increasingly bizarre obstacles preventing them from so much as finding the counter in order to begin the process of persuading the book-seller to … you know … <span class="u">sell them a book</span>. Crowley is really doing everyone an enormous public service by giving his angel something else to focus on …</em>
</p><p>Arariel has at her disposal a veritable <em>army</em> of untapped talent at her finger tips, a cause they are all happy to defend, and a way to do so which (Lord willing) won’t even leave them facing much threat of serious disciplinary measures afterwards.</p><p>The scare Michael had given her earlier might be still fresh in her mind, after all, but Arariel is not above getting a bit of her own back in the name of a good cause. <em>[2]</em></p><p>
  <em>[2] As Arariel’s Creator would later put it; “Vengeance is mine.” You can’t use angels as the enforcers of the Almighty’s wrath without teaching them a few tricks along the way, after all, and whatever else might be said of the various groups of guardian angels in Heaven, they are very quick learners.</em>
</p><p>*</p><p>A few days later, if, by some strange turn of chance, you had found yourself wandering the corridors of Heaven’s governance departments, had taken the fourth right, the second left and, after about two eternities more of walking,<em>[3]</em> finally another left, arrived outside of Michael’s own personal office, perhaps to make an appointment with her Assistant, you would find yourself stumbling upon a very strange scene.</p><p>
  <em>[3] Why, yes, in Heaven an eternity is a measure of length rather than time.  The earthly time-measurement came about when the human who walked a half-eternity complained about the length of time it took.</em>
</p><p>Even by the standards of a day which had begun with you infiltrating Heaven’s administration.</p><p>Which is a very strange day indeed…</p><p>“I’m sorry, you want to leave <em>what </em>for Michael?” asks Bezaliel, too startled at actually manage even the most token appearance of disapproval <em>[4]</em> in the face of Arariel and her many boxes. The boxes are hissing. Boxes should not, in Bezaliel’s most decided opinion, hiss.</p><p>
  <em>[4] It’s office policy to greet all unexpected visitors with deep disapproval and palpable irritation, not a personal choice. There is training for it. As with all training sessions, it is deeply unpleasant and terribly vexing, but at least this is – in this one specific case – intentional, given its aims…</em>
</p><p>Arariel looks at him with wide, wonderful eyes and bites her lip in a rather charming display of nerves. “I… Look, I know it’s strange - I realise that, I <em>do</em> -  but Michael <em>insisted</em> we bring them directly to her, and I didn’t want to step out of line by asking her why or anything, and…”</p><p>She trails off, looking worried and Bezaliel finds himself nodding encouragingly to show that he understands <em>completely</em>. Michael is not big on providing explanations for her reasoning, and can cut a most terrifying figure to cow lower-raking angels into swift compliance.<em> [5]</em> If Michael demanded suspiciously hissing boxes be delivered to her office with all possible haste, then Bezaliel has no problem at all believing so innocent and soft a being as Arariel would immediately and meekly set about following her orders to the letter without questions.</p><p>
  <em>[5] Admittedly necessary on a battlefield, but not nearly so desirable in peacetime. Like most archangels, Michael is also not a fan of unauthorized independent thought, which brings other peace-time issues of its own. See also [1].</em>
</p><p>“Um…” he looks around a little helplessly, but he has no idea when Michael will be back, and he <em>definitely</em> does not want whatever is in those boxes anywhere near him until she returns. “I can let you in to leave them next to her desk if you like?”</p><p>Arariel looks ready to collapse with relief, but then another thought obviously occurs to her and her gentle face turns troubled again.</p><p>“I… That is to say, thank you <em>so</em> much, Bezaliel, that would be <em>wonderful</em>, but…” she wrings her hands for a moment, still nibbling away at her lip, before raising those huge eyes back to Bezaliel’s face. “I’m so sorry, but these aren’t the only ones to come and, well I shouldn’t want to <em>trouble</em> you at all, Bezaliel! It seems so dreadfully awful of me to keep interrupting you when you’re so busy with so many important matters.”</p><p>Bezaliel refuses to preen, no matter that he is, in fact, doing <em>many</em> important things at his work, and it is rather flattering to discover that <em>someone</em> finally appreciates this fact. Especially someone like Arariel, who would have no need to know this unless she were to take a particular interest…</p><p>Arariel’s enormous eyes shine luminous at him with her hopeful proffering of a solution for his approval. “Do you… do you think you might be able to lend me a key or something? Just for a little bit! Just until we’ve dropped all these off, you know?”</p><p>Bezaliel wavers. Under normal circumstances, this would be a shocking request and almost certainly grounds for a strong reprimand at best, but… Well, Arariel looks horribly stressed already, and Bezaliel really <em>does</em> have far too much work to get through before the next quarter to have to keep leaping up to open doors for Arariel and her boxes…</p><p>He smiles reassuringly, softening the stern effect of his wagged finger. “Well, just this once, you hear, Arariel? No taking advantage or thinking I’ll go around handing out keys to archangel’s offices at the drop of a feather, you understand?”</p><p>Arariel’s face is a radiant picture of gratitude. “Oh, Bezaliel, thank you!” For a moment she almost looks ready to throw herself into his arms, but she just barely restrains herself.</p><p>Bezaliel smiles again at her and waves her off, key in hand and ominously hissing boxes trailing in her wake. He shakes his head, sighing. He hopes the boxes aren’t full of visual aids for another training session, he really does…<em> [6]</em></p><p>
  <em>[6] One of Gabriel’s earlier seminars had been on the usefulness of visual aids for training.  Even Raphael had admitted to the general sensibleness of the seminar’s major topic and themes and had actually deigned to take some detailed notes during the relevant sections.  Broken clocks are still correct twice a day, after all...</em>
</p><p>Around the corner, Arariel puts her Big Eyes routine (which would never work on Cassiel for a second, but then he’s seen too often the after-effects of its use…) away and greets her erstwhile helpers with an impish grin before silently waving the key like a trophy. There is an answering, strictly silent, flurry of gleefully flailing wings and supressed mirth, before everyone grabs their … supplies … and leaps into action. By their calculations, Raphael is likely to keep Michael running in the Infirmary for several more hours, but they have a lot of work to accomplish before the archangel’s return and there’s no time to waste…</p><p>*</p><p>Michael represses a sigh as she moves carefully in the direction of her office, where she can find shelter and space private enough to sigh without being witnessed. She aches in every muscle and joint her form holds, including in several that she did not know until now she had. Raphael is a remarkable healer, of course she is, but she is also exacting and surprisingly petty when displeased, and Michael has spent the whole nominal ‘day’<em>[7]</em> running laps and executing manoeuvres until Raphael is satisfied with the set up for the morrow’s evaluations.</p><p>
  <em>[7] In Heaven, time is meaningless, and thus ‘days’ are at best an approximation. ‘Meetings’ however, still contrive to be Endless, and owing to the aforementioned temporal quirks of the celestial realms, might actually manage to achieve it.</em>
</p><p>Michael does not understand what it is about the principality Aziraphale that Raphael feels compelled to leap to his defence so, but she can’t seem to shake her sister’s loyalty and attempting to do so often leads to painful retribution or centuries-long sulking, neither of which Michael enjoys. <em>[8]</em></p><p><em>[8]</em> <em>Once, Raphael became so annoyed by Michael's efforts to rein Aziraphale into line with proper angelic procedures that she actually called a Meeting of her own. It involved a great many papers to be read in detail beforehand, several tabled papers which were frequently referred to, and an exercise involving trust falls. Everyone hated every second of it, and Michael somehow was given full credit for the meeting being called in the first place. Life, it has often been observed, was not in the slightest bit fair.</em></p><p>She makes a mental note to find some way to appease Raphael later and waves an impatient hand to silence Bezaliel when her assistant tries to speak with her. She has absolutely no interest in hearing whatever messages Gabriel has left for her return right now, no energy to sign forms or reports, and generally no desire to be held back even for a second from curling up in her nice desk chair <em>[9]</em> and letting the aches and pains of the day wash out of her form.</p><p>
  <em>[9] Ergonomic office furnishings being one of Gabriel’s fascinations of a few centuries ago that Michael happened to agree with. Thoroughly fed up with treating pulled, stiffened muscles and aching joints, even Raphael was inclined to agree.</em>
</p><p>Maybe she might even groom her wings, just to see the thing through properly?</p><p>“<em>Erm, sir!</em>”</p><p>Bezaliel’s tone is insistent, and Michael throws him an irritated glance (glare) over her shoulder as she strides past. If he’s going to hold her up like this, it had better be <em>bloody</em> good!</p><p>“Yes?”</p><p>Bezaliel cringes backwards, looking like he very much wishes he’d stayed silent. Michael would bark at him again, tell him to stand up straight, look like he has a bit of dignity in his post, that sort of thing, but she’s honestly just too tired to be bothered, and her desk chair is calling to her.</p><p>She cannot make herself soften her gaze, but she need not snap. Michael simply waits, and Bezaliel stumbles all over himself trying to speak all his words at once.</p><p>“The – ah – the –“ he pauses, flails his hands around, “There may not be very much space in your office, sir. We weren’t sure where best to put them all, so …” he trails off, helplessly.</p><p>Michael has absolutely no idea what her assistant is talking about, but she’s tired and she wants to be left in peace, so she nods.</p><p>“Good.”</p><p>There seems to be nothing else to say for the moment, and she turns to resume her final few steps.</p><p>What does end up properly triggering Michael’s well-honed sense of alarm <em>[10] </em>is the tiny twitch of a black, scaly snout poking out from beneath her office’s door. It disappears relatively quickly; if she’d not been looking in the right place and the right moment, she would surely have missed it. A moment later, there is another snout-peek from a different spot beneath the door. Then another.</p><p>
  <em>[10] It’s not paranoia when you’re an archangel. No, really, Michael can prove it; Gabriel had a poster made and no matter what Raphael might be heard muttering into her teacups, it isn’t a bit sarcastic.</em>
</p><p>There are multiple <em>somethings</em> in Michael’s office. Her office which is filled with important things which she is sure she would not wish to share with multiple <em>somethings</em>. More importantly, Michael realises that whatever is in her office means that she will not be getting her long afternoon of curling up and preening in her desk chair</p><p>Sometimes, being an archangel is more trouble than it is worth.</p><p>*</p><p>It takes Bezaliel, his four assistants, and finally Michael calling in Gabriel and Sandalphon for help before they can get the door open. For some reason, <em>[11]</em> the charms Arariel had placed on Michael’s door to “contain the serpents and prevent them from fomenting rebellion in Heaven, Archangel Michael, I swear!” have made it impossible to simply <em>open</em> the door, and finally half of the wall had to be demolished around it.</p><p>
  <em>[11] That reason being, in fact, several centuries of dedicated study and a not inconsiderable amount of advice from Aziraphale, but we shan’t mention it if you don’t.</em>
</p><p>“Oh, you’ve redecorated, have you?” Raphael, on her way to drop the next set of rotas over to Uriel’s department, came to an abrupt halt, eyebrows raised. “I must say, I’m not entirely sure that I like it. Why’s young Arariel just standing there?”</p><p>“She is learning the error of her ways,” Gabriel throws out before Michael has a chance to give vent to the extensive barrage of vitriol she is barely holding in check.</p><p>Raphael’s raised eyebrow now looks impressed. “Oh? Taking long, is it?”</p><p>“I’m sorry, Archangel Raphael?” Arariel asks, before stopping at Sandalphon’s snort.</p><p>“Sorry indeed, Guardian. That is certainly one way to put it.”</p><p>“Sandalphon, if you aren’t going to explain whatever is going on here, please be quiet.” Raphael tuts.</p><p>Sandalphon grumbles something inarticulate, but apparently feels that further crumbling the already much-reduced wall is a better use of his energies. <em>[12]</em></p><p>
  <em>[12] In fairness to Sandalphon here; it is.</em>
</p><p>Satisfied, Raphael returns her attention to the troubled-looking guardian. “Well, Arariel?”</p><p>“I…” Arariel wrings her hands and looks very anxious. “I… The, ah, the Archangel Michael, you see, she asked for us to deliver the demon Crowley to her.” There is a pause as Arariel studies her shoes very intensely, biting her lip.</p><p>Raphael waits. Patience might indeed be a Virtue, but it can also be practiced by those of the Third Sphere too, if one only tries. When her siblings look like they wish to jump in, she shoots them A Look which turns them back to their inexplicable destruction.</p><p>“Only…” Arariel begins, haltingly. “Only, we weren’t <em>sure</em>, you see, of what a demon would look like.”</p><p>Oh dear. Raphael rather thinks she can see where this is going. “Go on.”</p><p>“So we… collected a lot of possibilities. All that we could find, really. For Archangel Michael to check. Because she would know so much more of the ways of The Enemy and has so much experience than we guardians.” Arariel fixes her superior with such a pleading look, even Raphael, who is usually completely unmoved by pleading looks,<em> [13]</em> feels herself unbending a little.</p><p>
  <em>[13] Aziraphale may be her most difficult patient, but the regiments that had been led by the principalities were only marginally better about submitting for perfectly sensible health checks, or sitting still long enough to allow their injuries to be treated and healed properly. Were Raphael the type to be taken in by whining or pleading looks in general, half the Host would have succumbed to celestial gangrene or similar, and so the fear of the Almighty among certain circles of the ranks of the guardians is somewhat rivalled, or even eclipsed altogether, by the Fear of Raphael when she looks at them sternly. </em>
</p><p>“Well, I certainly cannot fault your logic, dear. Nor the genuinely wonderful results.”<em>[14]</em></p><p>
  <em>[14] Raphael, much like Cassiel, could get a lot of remarkably wide-ranging mileage out of her words. For example, the word ‘wonderful’ in this instance <span class="u">might</span> have been intended to convey an impression of glorious delight at the unexpected entertainment. On the other hand, it may <span class="u">also</span> convey to the attentive listener that Raphael wondered very, <span class="u">very hard</span> about the relative sanity of her siblings… </em>
</p><p>“Are you going to help, Raphael?” Gabriel snaps, very much at the end of his tether. This afternoon had been timetabled for a thoroughly enjoyable round table on the merits of hot desking in a cherubic setting, <em>[15]</em> and now he has instead spent the last three hours dismantling brickwork. In short, he is in no mood to have Raphael go about raising her eyebrows at him.</p><p><em>[15] Oddly, no cherubim had actually been invited to attend said roundtable, after they had shown a distinct lack of enthusiasm for the idea. It was the opinion of the First Sphere that anyone ought to have at least a small workspace to call one’s own, and that Gabriel should ‘butt out’ of their offices already. It was the opinion of Gabriel that the First Sphere should be more open to new ideas and that if they chose not to be cooperative in his efforts then they could suffer the consequences of not being consulted. The Almighty, it is rumoured, has arranged for a supply of entertaining snacks just specially for the inevitable show-down, and has High Hopes that it may come before the End Times</em> <em>.</em></p><p>“Not in the slightest, Gabriel.” Raphael doesn’t even miss a beat. “Do you think you’ve got much left to finish, or do I have time to go and collect Uriel?”</p><p>“Whatever for? Do you think we need <em>all</em> of us to take the wall down?”</p><p>“Not really,” Raphael crosses her arms, leans against a (distant and thus still sturdy) wall, and allows herself a small smile. “But I do rather think she’ll get a kick out of watching this mess unfold. Seems a shame for her to be left out of all the fun, just because she’s over in the other wing.”</p><p>Beside Gabriel, Sandalphon makes a meaningful grunt of effort as he all but drops an armful of rubble on Gabriel’s toes, in a pointed manner. Gabriel wishes <em>very</em> hard that swearing wasn’t Completely Unbecoming of An Archangel and hops clumsily back and out of the way. Raphael’s smile curls still wider.</p><p>“You know what? Never mind. I’ll just run and get her now, I’m sure you’ll all still be having fun when we get back. You all just carry on now!”</p><p>Before Gabriel can stop her, she turns and all but glides down the corridor, pausing only to snag Arariel away from the corner she’d been cowering in on the way past.</p><p>“Come along, Arariel!” She sang out as they hurried out of sight, “you can explain the rest to me as we go…”</p><p>“Sometimes,” Gabriel addresses the universe with Great Feeling, “I really do wonder whether Raphael and I are on the same Side at all.”<em> [16]</em></p><p><em>[16] It’s all a matter of perspective, really.</em> <em>Not to mention, ineffable.</em></p><p>*</p><p>“Oh.” Is all Uriel has to say, blinking several times in shock. “I see Raphael wasn’t exaggerating then.”</p><p>“You <em>wound </em>me,” Raphael shoots back cheerfully enough.  Then she pauses. “And also, I’m deeply flattered. Personally, I really don’t think I could have made anything this amazing up.”<em> [17]</em></p><p>
  <em>[17] Please see earlier notes on the Heavenly experience of the word ‘amazing.’</em>
</p><p>“This is not in the least bit amusing, Raphael.” Michael snaps, glaring.</p><p>Uriel is still blinking in shock at the sight of the crumbled brickwork, the runic charms glowing out of the rumble and dust as if they were themselves by now <em>thoroughly</em> irritated.</p><p>“No,” she finally says, “I rather think it isn’t amusing. ‘Baffling,’ certainly.”</p><p>“I beg your pardon?”</p><p>Uriel quietly motions Bezaliel out of the way and leans a little closer to examine the nearest rune. “I find myself wondering, Michael… if you wished for a new office, mightn’t you have simply requested one? Was the paperwork truly so onerous?”</p><p>“Uriel!” Michael snarls, her wings rising up and flashing with fire in her irritation. She’s now somehow more tired than when she had left Raphael’s tender mercies – a thing she had not thought possible – she’s covered head to wingtip in brick dust and she still can’t get into her blessed office! She is, in short, in no mood to deal with her siblings’ nonsense any further. “Speak plainly or get thee hence, before I-“</p><p>Uriel throws her a look over one shoulder, a look which rather clearly states ‘You’re lucky I’m not in the mood to make you pay for that’, before turning to Arariel, who has resumed her previous position of Looking Deeply Awkward in a corner.</p><p>“I assume there was a key to these, Arariel?”</p><p>The guardian angel nods eagerly, her eyes wide and very, very blue. “Oh, yes, Archangel Uriel, sir!”</p><p>Uriel nods; it is as she expected. “Very proper. And it was doubtless kept simple, for ease, hm?”</p><p>More nodding. “I didn’t wish to cause the Archangel Michael any <em>trouble</em>, Archangel Uriel. Really I didn’t! I didn’t <em>think</em> that –“</p><p>“<em>Thinking</em> seems to have been largely absent from this <em>entire</em> endeavour, in my opinion.” Gabriel cuts in, but Raphael’s wing to the back of his head quiets him effectively.</p><p>Uriel stands once more, turning to give her three siblings a deeply pitying look. “Michael,” she says, very slowly. “Did it not occur to you to simply <em>ask</em> the door to open itself?”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>Bezaliel coughs, flustered. “The, ah, the Archangel did make rather a lot of, ah, demands of the door to open, sir.”</p><p>Raphael’s snort is <em>most</em> eloquent of her opinion on such a statement. Her pursed lips say rather more.</p><p>“I see.” Uriel pretends she didn’t hear her sister. “Well, then I rather suspect I see the problem here. Obviously Guardian Arariel made the mistake of believing an archangel would have better manners. I am sure I can’t think why she would hold such an impression, but it rather speaks well of her deep respect for her superior officers and we shall leave it at that. Run along, Arariel; I shall finish up here.”</p><p>Arariel could not look more relieved if she’d been given a week’s practice. “Yes, Archangel Uriel, sir! Thank you, sir!”</p><p>She gives a grateful smile to Raphael too on her way out and of her own initiative pulls the assistants down the corridor with her. Bezaliel throws a wistful look after them, but the privilege of rank means that – as Archangel Michael’s personal assistant – he must remain at his post while five archangels get ready to, ah, <em>discuss a series of differences in opinion</em>. <em>[18]</em></p><p>
  <em>[18] As much fun as it occasionally is to be a fly on the wall for these things – gaining a whole new perspective on the inner minds of those who, for all practical purposes, run Heaven and all its works - the hazard of being caught in the cross-fire of archangelic squabbles greatly reduces any enjoyment (though greatly improves one’s reflexes to duck.) Besides, Duty requires that Bezaliel not spread any whisper of a rumour of the hilarity with his friends, and he hates being pestered (verging upon tempted!) to share the gossip.</em>
</p><p>“I still don’t see what happened here,” Sandalphon grumbles, perching atop one of the more comfortable piles of rubble he’s created.</p><p>Raphael nods, looking interested, but with the amused aura of someone who is already highly entertained and knows that the show is only going to get better in a moment.</p><p>Uriel sighs very deeply and levels Michael a pitying look. “Michael,” she begins, “all you had to do was say ‘open, please’. The runes were set up to keep the serpents <em>in</em>, not you <em>out</em>. I expect that Arariel assumed that demons were incapable of being polite, but that an angel’s first instinct is courtesy, so she selected the simplest, most obvious, polite request possible and set everything up accordingly.”</p><p>There is a beat of silence, before Rachael makes a very unattractive snorting noise, followed by her all but doubling over as laughter shakes her sturdy frame.</p><p>“Oh,” says Gabriel.</p><p>“What?” demands Sandalphon.</p><p>“Shut up, Raphael,” snarls Michael.</p><p><em>I really need a raise,</em> thinks Bezaliel.</p><p>*</p><p>“I must say, Michael,” Raphael’s voice is so light and breezy that is cannot possibly be genuine, “I’m really not very sure about these new interns of yours.” She moves towards one of the arm chairs tucked away in a corner and gently shoos a particularly large specimen out of it. It hisses at her in a grumpy manner, but if Raphael could be dissuaded from her chosen path by narrowed eyes and hissing then Aziraphale’s health appointments would never happen.</p><p>“You don’t like them, Raphael?” Uriel enquires, carefully neutral.</p><p>“Oh, I’m sure they have their charms and such,” Raphael pauses as she moves to pour her tea out only to discover that three very tiny serpents have decided that her tea cup is the <em>ideal</em> place to curl up together in. She sighs and debates tipping them out. Then she dismisses the notion, and simply miracles up a new tea cup and resumes pouring her tea, ignoring the sound of Gabriel grinding his teeth. He’ll do himself an injury if he keeps that up, but she’s told him that before and if he persists in continuing then he has only himself to blame. <em>[19]</em> “They certainly add a little … something, to the ambiance in here, I must say. But I’m really not at all sure if they’ll take to your filing system, dear.”</p><p>
  <em>[19] If Gabriel actually slept, Raphael would have long since fitted him for a night guard.  Gabriel, however, finds the idea of sleeping only marginally more agreeable than he finds eating or drinking.</em>
</p><p>Michael throws her sister a Look which speaks several volumes<em> [20]</em> and would doubtless cause some mild injury to Raphael’s Grace if she’d caught it. Raphael only sniffs and leans over to tickle one inquisitive snake under the chin as it comes looping down from the blinds. The snake tilted its head to offer better access.</p><p>
  <em>[20] Libraries, even.</em>
</p><p>“Oh, I don’t know…” Sandalphon mused, standing very still while around fifteen serpents try to make themselves comfortable about his person. “I think they could be rather soothing. Very calm creatures, these snakes…”</p><p>“I want. Them. Gone.” Michael states, flatly. A hopeful serpent creeps just a <em>touch</em> too close to her, and she sends it flying into the wall opposite with a flick of her wing.</p><p>“<em>Michael!</em>” Sandalphon and Raphael are united in outrage, even though Michael <em>knows</em> that Raphael’s tsking is only for show. <em>[21] </em>Sandalphon, by contrast, seems to genuinely enjoy being used as a holy heat source by serpents and has already scooped up the injured snake to pet it carefully and whisper soothing nothings to it.</p><p><em>[21] It isn’t that Raphael doesn’t <span class="u">like</span></em> <em>snakes. It is just that there are rather more ribs and vertebrae wandering around with them than she really likes to deal with. In Raphael’s opinion, there really ought to be limits on this sort of thing and the Reptilian Design Committee had gotten thoroughly out of control on the project.</em></p><p>This entire conversation is getting more and more ridiculous, and no one seems to be especially eager to help her banish the infernal creatures out of her office. What was the point of calling for help if all they will do is stand around in idle chatter?</p><p>“Are you quite sure, dear?” Raphael enquires, innocent tone firmly in place. “From what <em>I </em>heard, you rather demanded to have them, after all. And the Eighth Tower did go to ever such a lot of trouble to collect them up for you, didn’t they? Are you quite sure you don’t want to savour their presence a little while longer?”</p><p>Michael glares and sweeps the office with another baleful glare.</p><p>In the filing cabinets, poking their insolent snouts out from drawers, scattering papers left and right and they nose around and burrow in. Tangled between the slats of the blinds, gripping with their tails and hanging down to stare into Uriel’s baffled eyes with utter contempt for how Heavenly gravity works. Curled up inside the rubbish bin, flicking anything they find not to their liking back out again. The floor seethes with writhing bodies. One especially large specimen is lounging insouciantly in Michael’s desk chair, watching over its black-scaled, gold-eyed brethren with a decidedly smug expression. If Michael had not checked, and indeed double-checked, and finally gone to get Gabriel for a second opinion, the desk-chair serpent would indeed be a prime suspect for The Adversary.<em>[22]</em></p><p>
  <em>[22] Crowley, when he hears about this, is torn between insult and being thankful he need not breathe and therefore need not stop laughing until it pleases him to do so.</em>
</p><p>Gabriel claps his hands firmly, pulling everyone’s attention back to himself. “Well, regardless, this seems to me to be a less than ideal working environment. Very bad for productivity, and all that.”</p><p>Sandalphon sniffs, unconvinced of any such thing. “Well, I suppose if you are having second thoughts about the whole thing…” He trails off, hopefully.</p><p>Gabriel, however, steps in. “I shall see to it that every, ah, serpent, is removed within the hour, Michael.”</p><p>“Oh.” Sandalphon, if one were to catch him in the right light, looked a little crushed at the missed opportunity. “Are you sure you wouldn’t like help, Gabriel?”</p><p>Gabriel frowns. “Nonsense! I have a very efficient team!” <em>[23]</em></p><p>
  <em>[23] For all his uncountable centuries, Gabriel has still yet to grasp the small yet important distinction between a ‘quick’ job and an ‘efficient’ one. As shall shortly be shown.</em>
</p><p>“Oh dear…” Raphael sighs as she exchanges very eloquent looks with Uriel, before both archangels reluctantly finish their tea…</p><p>*</p><p>“It’s the oddest thing,” comments Aziraphale after Raphael has successfully managed to wrangle him into her examination room and even to keep him penned long enough to start checking his joints for wear or discomfort, “but there’s been some very strange mass-sightings of snakes lately. All black ones, too, and appearing <em>en-masse</em> out of nowhere. I do hope it’s not a new sort of plague-policy, it’s causing terrible trouble.”</p><p>Raphael pauses as she reaches for a new instrument. <em>[24]</em></p><p>
  <em>[24] It isn’t as if Aziraphale wasn’t generally in favour of good health and readily available medical assistance, of course. In fact, he was really very in favour of such things and liked to do as much meddling as he could get away with in order to ensure it for as many people as possible. But that was the key thing, really. Aziraphale would really rather that medics were helping, well, <span class="u">other people</span>. People who didn’t mind so much getting poked and prodded and having various probing questions asked of them. Besides. Aziraphale had ever so much to be getting on with and so little time to be doing it all in and really, using that time for things like ‘routine check-ups’ and ‘bed-rest’ just seemed… shockingly wasteful really. And it wasn’t as if Aziraphale really needed so much care, all in all. If only he could find some way of make Raphael understand this too…</em>
</p><p>“Ah.”</p><p>Aziraphale pulls his attention away from contemplating the windows and eyes her with more interest. “<em>Are</em> they, ah, <em>heaven-sent</em>, so to speak? I examined some myself, and they did rather give the impression of having being touched by angels, though I’m sure I have no idea as to why they would be.”</p><p>Raphael feels a little helpless. She wasn’t really expecting this topic to come up at all during the appointment, and it has thrown her a little.</p><p>“Um...” she says.</p><p>Aziraphale simply sits there and watches her.</p><p>“You see…” Raphael starts and then realises she has no idea what to say. How, she thinks a little wildly, do you explain that Michael tried to muscle in on Aziraphale’s turf and as a result was utterly <em>buried</em> in snakes by Aziraphale’s indignant band of friends and admirers? “You see, there was a … a misunderstanding.”</p><p>“Oh?” Aziraphale looks somehow even more interested, <em>[25] </em>and at the very least she thinks he’s no longer plotting his imminent escape. “So this isn’t some form of divine retribution?”</p><p>
  <em>[25] Which is actually a great deal more intimidating than Aziraphale realizes; gaining the full notice of a principality involves rather a lot more eyes on the object of said interest, even if most of the eyes are not in the same plane of existence. It can be A Lot for the inexperienced…</em>
</p><p>“No, no, nothing like that!” Raphael reassures him. “Ah… Michael was a little … imprecise with her instructions to some of the guardians and they rather … got the wrong end of the stick. And then they got rather a lot of the wrong type of serpents and… well, we had to get rid of them rather quickly.”</p><p>Aziraphale blinks at her. “Oh.” He seems to take a moment to consider it, and Raphael wonders if she’s got enough time to check his aura-projections while he’s distracted, before, “That’s a great relief to me, actually, because I’m afraid I rather encouraged this nice young man, Patrick, his name is, to err… shoo them away, as it were. And he may have over-done it. Just a little. Bit enthusiastic.” <em>[26]</em></p><p>
  <em>[26] So enthusiastic, in fact, that as of the 21st century, Crowley still can’t set foot in Ireland.  Crowley has yet to entirely forgive Aziraphale for this, especially after Guinness really got going. Aziraphale maintains that Crowley doesn’t even <span class="u">like</span> stout, but this it seems is not the point. Unreasonable reptile. </em>
</p><p>Raphael smiled encouragingly and was rewarded by one of Aziraphale’s rare care-free smiles in return. “Easily done, I’m sure.”</p><p>“Well, it’s a weight off my mind that we’re not due for anything like Egypt all over again. Frightful mess that was.”</p><p>Raphael nods as she turns to grab her stethoscope. “No, no, just an interdepartmental mix-up is all…”</p><p>She turns back and sighs. Between one beat and the next Aziraphale has vanished. Bloody … <em>something!</em></p><p>She picks up the desk-phone and dials. “Uriel? Yes, it’s me. No, he’s flipping scarpered again! Can you see if you can cover all the exits and – What? Oh blast it, I <em>told</em> you not to believe him if he said I’d finished! We’ll never catch him now!”</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>If you liked this, check out my blog for random thoughts on writing, fantasy, dragons and folklore. Also there's a tiny dragon as a guest-star, so that can't be bad!<br/>I can be found at: <a href="https://herebeblog.wordpress.com/">https://herebeblog.wordpress.com/</a></p></blockquote></div></div>
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